Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) (28 page)

Just before lunchtime Spencer stopped them again and, after peering through a clump of plants ahead of them, backed away and shook his head.

“Trouble. A few shacks in a clearing. There’s nothing I know of out here, so I’d bet that’s where our friends from the other day were coming from. Meth labs are a big moneymaker these days. Let’s backtrack and give this a wide berth,” he whispered. “There are two men by the larger building. Armed. So stay quiet.”

They retraced their footsteps, and when they found a smaller track that led south, Spencer took the lead again and they made their way through the almost impassible brush, wary of anything more accessible – the last thing they wanted was to meet a returning group of drug traffickers on a heavily traveled route.

An hour later they’d made a half circle around the encampment and found a tributary to one of the larger rivers, which they followed for six miles before it turned south. A thunderclap sounded at two o’clock and the rain came shortly after, torrential but welcome, and it continued until Jack took a bearing on the GPS and announced that they were only a quarter mile from the site.

There was no clearly defined track for the last leg. They had to hack their way through, Spencer in the lead, tirelessly swinging his machete to clear a path. When they finally reached the riverbank, they were all spent, dehydrated in spite of the steady downpour, physically exhausted from the long march.

“This is it? You’re sure?” Drake asked Jack when he set his backpack down on the brown bed of wet leaves of the jungle floor.

“Absolutely. This was our final camp. I still remember it well. That outcropping of stones near the bank. Those trees,” Jack replied.

“Where did you find him?” Drake whispered.

“Over by that grove of palms.”

“Show me.”

Jack nodded. When they arrived at the spot, both men stood staring at the rainforest floor, which looked exactly like all the other ground around it, creeping vines intertwined as they crawled up the sides of the trees, streams of rain runoff trickling from the leaves. “He was lying here. What was left of him. I wound up burying his remains along the river, using my machete to scoop the dirt. There was no way to get his body out of the jungle – you’ve seen what we went through to get here.”

“Where, exactly?”

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know for sure. North along the bank. There was nothing to mark the spot with other than a few small rocks and a cross I made out of two branches – but there’s no way it would still be here. In the end it was just a place. Like any other.” Jack hesitated. “I’m sorry, son. I never thought anyone would be returning to pay their respects. Least of all you and me. But he’s out here, where he chose to spend his final days. That’s the important thing. The exact place doesn’t matter that much. This whole rainforest was his grave, the trees his tomb. He would have approved. He wasn’t big on ceremony.”

“Walk down there with me. Maybe there’s something you’ll recognize – that’ll jog your memory.”

Jack nodded. “Sure, Drake. Why not?”

They plodded to the river and made their way up its bank, wary of snakes, the game track that ran parallel barely passable. After fifty yards Jack slowed. “I don’t think it was any farther than this. So somewhere between the palms and here. That’s about as close as we’re going to get.”

“You don’t see anything that stands out?”

Jack stopped. “Look around you. This is jungle. I doubt anything stays the same for a month, let alone two decades.”

They spent a couple of minutes watching the rain flow in veins to the river, and then Jack turned and began walking back. Drake stayed planted, and Jack stopped and turned to him.

Drake shook his head. “Go ahead. I can find my own way back.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Pretty easy. Follow the river, make a right at the palms. A cinch.”

“All right.” Jack left him alone, understanding Drake’s desire to commune with his departed father, and inspect every bump or irregularity in the bank for a clue as to his final resting place.

Drake took his time, the big knife in his hand, cutting away plants to get a better look at anything he thought promising. After a half hour he came across a lump of blackened leaves that yielded four softball-sized river rocks in a pile. There was no cross, the wood having rotted away, but Drake didn’t need that final marker to know that he’d finally found his father. He stood staring down at the spot for a long time. Then he dropped to his knees, his tears mingling with the rainwater on his face, the salty drops falling onto the stones, the sadness soaking into the silent earth as he sobbed, as sons had been sobbing for their departed fathers since time began.

Chapter Thirty-One

The first night at the riverside camp was a rainy one, making guard duty miserable. By morning the front had moved beyond them, and a stillness settled over the small clearing as the sun rose, the endless rhythm of the falling rain finally abated.

Drake and Jack caught breakfast at the river, several three-pound specimens that looked like large piranha. They fried them over the stove and the group ate unhurriedly while discussing their plan of attack for the day. Drake believed his father had been looking for the final outpost along the theorized secret Inca route that would point them in the direction of the lost city. If he was correct, the fourth outpost lay ahead, perhaps near…and beyond that, Paititi.

“I want to go with you,” Allie announced, back in her usual high spirits.

“I don’t have a problem with that, do you?” Drake asked Jack.

Jack tried to hide his dislike of the idea. “I’m thinking we should all go together.”

“That’s fine. But we should spread out in a search pattern, each of us every twenty to thirty feet,” Allie said. “That way we won’t miss anything.”

“What about the camp?” Drake asked.

“Two choices,” Spencer said. “Either one of us remains here, or we pack it all up and cart it with us every day. I don’t feel comfortable leaving everything unguarded.”

“I agree,” Jack said. “But I don’t want to lug our entire camp through the jungle. My vote is to rotate who stays on guard until we pick up and move the whole mess.”

Drake nodded. “I’ll second that. Jack, you have the GPS location of the last outpost find. What about the other two?”

“Sure. I’ve got them.”

“What’s the trajectory? Straight line, or no discernible pattern?”

Jack looked at Allie. “Time to earn your keep.”

Allie activated the device and checked the screen. “Other than east, it’s not a straight line. The outposts were directional. Knowing the orientation of the last one we found, our best bet is to search in a triangle northeast from this point. If you look at the spacing between the outposts that have already been found, they’re about two days of hard hiking apart, or twenty to twenty-five miles from each other. If this last one holds true to that pattern, the final one would be within a few miles of this camp. Of course, there’s no way of being sure until we find it.”

“I was going to say, then why don’t we just skip past that outpost, assume it’s around here, and look for Paititi twenty to twenty-five miles from here?” Spencer said.

“We could. But where, exactly? We can’t assume it’s east. It could be any direction. Without that final bearing, we’re talking months or years of searching with just the four of us. With no guarantees. That’s the big problem: without the final outpost, we’ve got nothing.”

“How do you know it’s the final one?” Spencer asked. “Why four after the river? Why not six? Ten…?”

“That’s not what the journal concluded,” Drake explained. “My father was convinced there were only four after the river. There were eight before, and all have been discovered over the years. My dad extrapolated that series of finds, connected the dots, and developed the theory of a sacred path for the faithful to follow. A yellow brick road.”

Spencer finished his breakfast and sat back. “Okay, then. What exactly are we looking for?”

Allie squinted at him. “All of the outposts were built out of stone, and had an arch that was a symbolic threshold for the next phase of the journey. I’d expect the final one to look much like the one we saw yesterday.”

“An arch? That was a pile of rubble. How do you get a bearing on direction if the arch isn’t standing?”

“Each arch had paver stones running through it. Symbolizing the road,” Allie explained. “Even if it collapsed, the pavers still point the way. That’s what I confirmed yesterday. You can still see them.”

Spencer shrugged. “Fair enough. So the question is, who wants to stay with the camp today?”

“Not me,” Allie said. “I came all the way here to look for this damned thing. I’m not going to sit and watch the grass grow while everyone’s out doing what I trained for…”

“And I think it’s pretty obvious I’m going to be on the hunt,” Drake said.

Jack caught Spencer’s eye. “I suppose that leaves either you or me. Want to flip a coin?” he asked.

“Nah. I have a feeling we’ll both have plenty of chance to ferret around in the jungle before this is over. You can have first whack at it,” Spencer said. “What time do you want to target for getting back, so I’ll know if we have a problem? We could have stayed in contact by phone, but that would have required two sat phones.”

Jack ignored the barb and tapped his watch. “I think the same rule as the hike. We stop by one, two at the latest. If we’re not back by around two thirty, there’s an issue. That will give us at least seven or so hours to look for the outpost each day without killing ourselves.”

Allie nodded. “Works for me.”

“All right then. Good luck. You can leave most of your stuff here. Just take what you’ll need for the day. Guns, water, food, that sort of thing,” Spencer advised. “I’ll watch over the rest.”

They were on their way within fifteen minutes, each with a rifle and a machete in hand. Allie had argued for fanning out and working a methodical grid pattern using the GPS for guidance, so they wouldn’t waste time repeating an area they’d already inspected. They crossed the river at an area downstream where the water was only knee deep, and soon were hacking their way into the wilds. It was slow going, made worse by the lack of trails and the constant worry that they’d come across another poisonous snake or attract the attention of some predator, human or animal. By 1:30 their arms were leaden and they’d found nothing. Jack recorded the end point on the GPS so they could go straight back the following day, and they returned to the camp, ready for rest.

The following day brought more of the same, with the added drama of Allie twisting her ankle on a vine. To Drake’s chagrin, Spencer stepped up and supported her all the way back to the camp as she limped along, her arm around his shoulder for stability. Back at the river, Jack did a cursory examination of the swollen appendage and shook his head.

“You should be fine in a few days. But you’ll need to stay off it so the swelling can go down. Looks like a doozy of a sprain.”

“It hurts,” Allie confirmed. “I was so busy watching for snakes I missed the vine entirely. Just stupid.”

“Not really. It could happen to any of us. Yet another reminder from the Amazon that one misstep and things can go badly wrong,” Spencer said. “You can stay here with me tomorrow. Take it easy.”

Allie frowned. “No, we need three people on the search or it will take almost twice as long. I’ll be fine. I know the drill. If I see anyone, shoot them, right?”

“Never a bad idea,” Jack confirmed, nodding.

Spencer looked troubled. “I don’t know. I don’t feel good about leaving you alone.”

“I can stay with her,” Drake said.

Eventually they agreed that they’d break down the camp the next morning and conceal the gear to avoid detection, and that Allie would remain to guard their possessions against what had so far turned out to be nothing.

They awoke at dawn to drizzle, but mild compared to some they’d endured, and made short work of the tents, stowing them in a thicket near the river. As they left for another long day of searching, Allie waved to them from her concealed resting place between two tall trees, nearly invisible in the dense foliage.

They’d already covered a swatch that stretched almost a full mile from the camp. Jack had calculated that at their current rate they’d be ready to do a return run on another ninety-foot-wide section within two more days. The enormity of their task became obvious as they resumed hacking through the jungle at yesterday’s stopping point, every hour seeming to drag by in slow motion with nothing to show for it.

At 1:00, just as they were preparing to call it a day, Drake chopped his way into a clearing where he found a number of green mounds. He approached the overgrown irregularities and poked at the nearest one with his machete.

The blade clanked against stone.

Drake fought to stay calm as his pulse pounded in his ears. He retraced his steps to where he could see Jack and Spencer.

“I think I found it,” he called in a stage whisper.

Spencer appeared a few moments later, Jack behind him. Drake led them through the flora into the clearing. Jack peered at the faint outline where the lone building’s walls had stood, and then moved to the smaller of the lumps beside it and began scraping away the accumulated soil and vegetation. Minutes later they could plainly see the remnants of square columns that had supported an arch, and between them, the rectangular stones set together to form a threshold and path. Jack stood between the columns with his GPS and recorded the spot, and then made a notation to record the direction the path pointed.

Distant gunfire shattered the quiet of the surroundings – the distinctive staccato chatter of an AK-47. Jack swung around, his normally flushed face pale.

“Allie!”

Spencer took off at a sprint, and it was all Drake could do to keep up with him as he ducked and weaved through the path they’d cleared. Jack was right behind him, his boots thumping against the ground as he ran.

When they neared the clearing ten minutes later, Drake was gasping for breath, pouring sweat. Spencer held his arm out and motioned for Jack to move to the right, separating to provide a less obvious target. He pointed to the left and Drake nodded, fighting the urge to vomit from the exertion and heat.